


Unkept Promises

by GE Buchanan (GracieForeth)



Series: Displaced [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracieForeth/pseuds/GE%20Buchanan
Summary: #1 in Displaced Series
Hazel Hamilton has been through hell and back, and in her mind, it was literally. She lost both the person she considered her brother and the one that was the love of her life. Decisions made after the losses changed her life, and there is no going back.





	1. Chapter 1

_October 1931_

Hazel looked around nervously. The small parlor was crowded with the fifteen or so people and she was feeling a bit lightheaded by the mix of perfumes, colognes, and the other chemicals that were evident in the room. She didn't know any of the people there, they were only there because of her parents, mostly to see how good they looked, something that someone rarely looked now-a-days. Oh, how Hazel hoped she did right by them. She was lost in her thoughts when a hand was laid on her her shoulder, causing her to jump.

"Whoa, there lass. 'Salright," a heavy Irish accent soothed her. She turned to see the priest from earlier, his red curls wild and his alabaster skin shown against the black and white material.

"Father McGowan," she sighed with relief, her hands clasped behind her back. "What can I do for you, Father?"

The man smiled sadly at her, his hand reached out to capture hers. "we need to discuss your placement when you are ready." His tone was smber and she new she would go the orphanage, since she had no living relatives in Brooklyn, or anywhere in this country. And with the fall of the economy, she knew it was slim to get adopted. Who would want an orphan Irish girl?

"Yes, Father, I understand," she replied softly, her eyes downcast to avoid his look.

"There's always the convent, child," he reminded her and he laughed at her crinkled nose. "It's a valid thought."

She nodded her head and bade him farewell as she made her way through the throng of people, receiving pity glances, condolences, and handshakes. She was ready to bolt until she the blond woman standing at the door with a scrawny blonde boy and a brown-haired one. She smiled and bounded towards them. 

"Mrs. Rogers!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the woman's midsection.

"Hazel, love, how are you doing? Sorry, we missed the service," the blonde replied, "and it's Sarah. You know that."

"Yes, ma'am," Hazel responded then turned to the blonde boy and wrapped him in her arms. "Steve," she breathed lightly.

"Hey, Hazel," he said with labored breath. Hazel let him go right away and concern washed over her face.

"Geez, Hamilton. Kill him, why don't you," the brunette said.

"James Buchanan. This is not the time nor the place," Sarah scolded him. The brunette turned red and hung his head. 

"Sorry," he muttered, pulling Hazel into a hug.

"You're a real jerk, you know that Bucky?" Hazel chided, giving him the best glare she could when she pulled away.

"Easy there, Hamilton. You'll hurt yourself," he threw back with a smile.

"Are we going to see you in school on Monday?" Steve asked, his blue eyes full of hope.

Hazel could only bite her lip and shrug. She never told the boys that she would be going tot he orphanage or even the convent.

"Boys, why don't you go sit down so Steve can rest," Sarah offered, her own blue eyes met Hazel's green ones, silently telling the young girl to stay behind.

"Yes Mom," Steve said with a slight haughtiness that his mother rather didn't catch or chose to ignore. "Talk to you soon, Hazel."  Hazel waved awkwardly tot hem and then looked back at Sarah, slightly confused.

"Hazel," the older woman began, "do you know what your future looks like?"

Hazel couldn't help but look at her with wide eyes. Sarah Rogers was the first adult to ask her a question regarding her and not her parents or the estate, or what was left of it. Hazel couldn't help but to swallow thickly, trying to get rid of the tightness in her throat.

"Father McGowan said I can go either to the orphanage or to the convent," she managed to say. She couldn't look at Sarah, afraid to see the look that all the adults have given her all day: pity.

"Where's Father right now?" Sarah asked. Hazel's eyes went wider and looked up at the woman. The blonde woman's face was set and her eyes searched the tight group of people for the red-haired priest.

Hazel bit her lip, unsure of what Steve's mother had in mind. She'd known the Rogers's since forever, and she knew how Sarah can be towards Steve when he's in a sickly state. She was like a second mother to her, and Bucky. The two of them became the siblings that Steve never had, and in the last few months, most of Hazel's meals were in courtesy of Sarah Rogers. She pointed the last place she saw Father McGowan.

"Hazel, go make sure the boys are not causing any trouble. I'll come find you when I am done talking to Father." Sarah turned and went in the direction Hazel pointed to. She made her way to the boys and sat down between them, letting out a very heavy sigh.

"So, Monday," Bucky started, slinging his arm around her shoulder, his hand resting on hers. It was something he only did when he was fishing for information.

Hazel shrugged and bit her lip. "I'm not sure. I need to figure out if I have a place to stay and food to eat." It wasn't far from the truth, she just didn't know where she would be staying or eating. Steve looked at her with almost pity and it made her heart nearly break. She expected the look from adults, but not from her best friend.

"I can see if Mom and Pop could help you out, Hamilton," Bucky offered, his brown eyes were warm and far from the mischievous sparkle they usually had. He was the one who would joke and tease her, having Steve be the buffer between the two. But he was sincere for the first time in their friendship. It surprised her.

"Thanks, Bucky, but I have to make a decision by Sunday and Father McGowan is pushing me to join the sisterhood," she replied, her hands in her lap as she looked to the ceiling. "Could be fun." Steve stared at her, eyes wide and mouth gaped. Only Bucky found this information hilarious.

"You? A nun?" he said between his silent laughter, though it was cut short due to Hazel's fist connecting with his arm. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You being a jerk," she whispered harshly.

"You really think you could pass as a Bluenose? You're far from," he shot back.

"Guys, c'mon. Not the place," Steve said softly, more in a bored tone than that of concern. Everyone knew that Hazel and Bucky couldn't be in the same room for more than two seconds before they both started to bicker. Sarah always would tell Steve that people who cared about each other argued a bit, because they didn't know how to tell the person how they felt. Hazel thought it was a bunch of rubbish when Steve told her what Sarah had said. She argued with him that she didn't care for Bucky like that, that he was just another kid who thought he could make fun of her. Steve would be the one that had to neutralize them before it became a scene, and this time, he wasn't having the energy for it, Hazel knew. Bucky was the first to give in, though, and sighed in defeat. 

"I'm sorry Hazel," Bucky started, surprising her with the use of her full name, which he never use. "But if you go to the nuns, then Steve and I will never see you again and all the shenanigans we caused would not be as fun to remember without you there." He looked up at her through his eyelashes with a sincere look. She looked at him slightly unsure of what to say to that. She was about to speak until Sarah approached them with Father McGowan, who did not look happy that he was there.

"Hazel, you mind if Mrs. Rogers and I have a word with you in private?" the priest asked politely. Hazel nodded and waved tot he boys as she followed Sara and Father out of the stuffy parlor into the small office she was in earlier that day. She really was done with that building and didn't want to be there any more than she had to. She sat down in the one chair that was by the desk, her eyes on Sarah, confusion on her face.

"Hazel," Father McGowan started, "Mrs. Rogers has brought it to my attention that she would like to take you on as her ward. She has reassured me that you would be fed and clothed appropriately and that it would be in your best interest, as you need to finish school and that she could use the help in the house since her son is rather sickly."

Her brow furrowed as her gaze slowly went to the priest, her brain not fully comprehending what he said. Steve wasn't that sickly to not help with chores and whatnot. He could do some things, and it took him time, but he wasn't incapable of it. 

"With Steve's asthma and his frequent colds, especially with it becoming autumn, you know how Brooklyn can get," Sarah said, giving Hazel a knowing look. Hazel finally put it together. Sarah Rogers mislead the priest to believe that she needed help, help that Hazel was able to give.

"Are you okay with that Hazel?" Father McGowan asked, his eyes hopeful she would say no.

"Yes," Hazel breathed, a small smile on her face as she looked at Sarah. "Yes, Father, it is."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Brief mention of needles, just in case you can't stand them.
> 
> Also some 30s slang:  
> Rag-a-Muffin - a poorly clothed often dirty child  
> Quiff - a slut  
> Bull session - Male talkfest, gossip, stories of sexual exploits  
> Goon - hoodlum
> 
> la peste blanche is the French wordage for Tuberculosis

_February 1936_

Hazel pinned the last curl in place before grabbing the handkerchief and fixed it around her head to keep the pin curls hidden before tying it off at the top of her head. She walked out of the bedroom, her hands smoothing down the material of her shirt that was tucked into the waistband of her navy sailor pants. she continued her way to the kitchen and filled the pot with water then setting it on the stove to heat up. When she went to retrieve the tin of loose tea and a tea cup there was a loud knock at the door.

"Hazel?" a voice came from the other side of the door. Hazel sighed and went to the door, unlocking it, sliding the chain out of the way before opening it.

Steve stood against the doorframe, labored breathing causing the color to drain from her face. He had a cut over his left eye, which was starting to bruise and swell, and a split lip. She was scared what she would find underneath his clothes.

"Mind helping me with him, doll?"  Hazel looked up and saw Bucky standing against the wall next to the door before she slung Steve's arm around her shoulders.

"What in God's name, Barnes?" she asked  as she and Bucky half carried/half dragged the scrawny boy to the kitchen and sat him down on the chair.

"He thought he could take on Seamus O'Reilly," bucky replied, his lip twitched. It was the first time she got a look at him. He had a matching black eye with Steve and bruise starting to form on his right cheek. 

She tore her gaze from the brunette and focused on the blonde. Her finger tilted Steve's chin up so she could assess what damage the brute Seamus did to her friend. "Seamus? Really Steve?" she sighed as she closed her eyes. "Boys, I thought I told you not to mess with him." Her tone was soft but they both could hear the scold, a skill she learned from Steve's mom, Sarah, making them both flinch a bit. She walked over to the cupboard and retrieved a bowl, throwing a clean towel into it, then filled it with the heated water from the kettle. She sat the bowl down on the table and walked into the bathroom to get the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, kneeling in front of Steve once she returned.

"Steve, why? He outweighs you by almost 200 pounds?" Her voice was barely a whisper as Bucky wrung out the towel and handed it to her. She took it with with a nod and began to gently press it against his swollen lip, silently thanking God that the cuts were clotted. Steve stayed quiet, his eyes flitted to Bucky and Hazel followed, giving the brunette a questioning look. She looked back at Steve, seeing his chest heave for breath.

"Bucky, could you go to the bathroom and get..."

"On it," he gruffed and went down the small hallway to the bathroom. She was thankful that he knew what was needed. He came back with the vial and syringe.

"I don't need that Hazel," Steve wheezed, his eyes widening at the sight of the needle.

"Yes, you do. Now shut up. Bucky could you help him remove his jacket and button up?" She turned away from them as she stuck the needle into the vial and drew the amount of epinephrine to ease his aching lungs. When she turned around, she nearly dropped the syringe. Steve sat there in his undershirt, bruises on his arms and peeking over the neckline of the white material.

"It's nothing serious, Hazel," he said with a smile, his eyes were half lidded.

She shook her head and walked over to him and poured some of the peroxide on his arm before sticking him with the needle, causing him to wince.

"Oh, c'mon," she said with a roll of her eyes. "You are in fights almost every week and you are an Irishmen. A needle isn't anything." She put the syringe in the sink, noting to deal with it afterward. "Bucky, go lie him down in his bed, shirt off. Do you have anything pressing for me to see?" She busied herself with gathering the supplies she was going to need.

"Just a kiss," he replied with a cocky smirk. She rolled her eyes again, trying to will the color rising in her cheeks to go away as she watched him help Steve up and took him to his bedroom. She chided to herself for letting Bucky get to her.

When she entered, Steve was lying down, bare-chested and eyes closed. His breathing was normal and deep, queueing her that he must have fallen asleep. She sat the bowl and other items down on the bedside table, taking a seat next to steve on the bed. She soaked a new towel with the peroxide, dabbing the cut by his eye.

"Why did he fight with Seamus?" she asked quietly, her eyes focused on Steve.

Bucky coughed and walked to the other side of the bed, opting to lean against the wall, his arms crossing his chest. She saw his cheeks reddened even in the shadows.

"O'Reilly was saying some things," he said flatly. He was quiet, unlike the Bucky she new.

"What did he say?" she pressed as she applied a bandage to the cut above Steven's sternum before went to assess the rest of the contusions on his arms and chest.

"Just...things," he said, evading her need for details.

"Dammit, Barnes," she seethed in almost a whisper. She pulled the blanket up over Steve and gathered the supplies before exiting the room. She heard Bucky behind her close the door. After the setting the items down on the small kitchen counter, she took a seat a the table.

"What did Seamus say, James?" Her words were muffled by her hands covering her face, and she only called Bucky by his given name when she's had enough of his way, knowing this was going to be the way to extract any information from him.

"He called you..." Bucky stopped himself, and Hazel could see he was battling himself with if he should say it or not. She waved her hand for him to continue. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes and finished. "A quiff." He shuffled his way towards the chair beside her, his shoulders slumping when he sat.

Hazel's mouth fell open. "A quiff?" Bucky nodded, his brown eyes full of pain. She shook her head and sighed.

"We know you're not, but that's been the bull session at the gym. 'Hazel Hamilton's a quiff, leads men on.'" His hands waved in front of him as if to read a marquis. He shook his head and looked at her grimly.

"So, Steve thought to punch him."

"He asked him to stop first."

"That's Steve," she sighed. "Bucky, it's fine. Seamus is mad because I refused to give it to him when we went out on that date. Like any respectful woman would in the backseat of a Buick." Her voice was tight but was full of sarcasm as her eyes stung.

"Hey, c'mon Hamilton. He's a goon and a rag-a-muffin. You can do better." Bucky reached for her hand, squeezing it in his. She looked up at him and smiled, his other hand thumbing away the stray tear away from her cheek.

"Steve and I know who you are. Besides, maybe you'll meet some British flyboy when you head out to England next week." His words were uplifting, but his eyes were still slightly sad. 

"Ha. Flyboys aren't my kind of guys, Bucky," she replied, noticing the light back in his eyes. "And I'm only there for a few months to study medicine. Sarah insisted."

"How is she?" he asked, his thumb absent-mindedly rubbed her hand, causing her stomach to feel strange and heat to rise up her neck. She took her hand back gingerly and sighed.

" She's...doing as well as anyone could with _la peste blanche_." she whispered, gripping his hand with hers, her lip between her teeth.

"Have you told Steve yet?" Bucky looked at her with mixed emotions. Bucky was Steve's protector, and he would always protect the frail blonde over any and every thing.

"No," she muttered, "Sarah doesn't want me to tell him. She said she will. When the time is right." She looked at Bucky, trying to read him. "Her choice, Bucky."

"How long?"

Hazel stiffened, her throat closing on her. It was the question that she was dreaded to know the answer to, after all, Sarah Rogers was a mother figure to her for the last four and a half years. "If she gets worse, I don't see her making it to the end of the year," she replied, "but when I talked to her last week, she seemed pretty well, maybe on the mend. Just hope that the weather continues to get warmer. Tea?" Bucky nodded as she got up to pour them each a cup. "Don't tell Steve."

"I won't." His hand touched hers as she handed him his cup, causing her to gasp inwardly.

"Well, not that's done, let me take a look at you," she said, setting her cup down, her forefinger tilting his head up to see the bruise on his right cheek.

A smirk formed on his lips and his brown eyes met her green ones. "Anything for you, doll," he said, his left eye barely able to wink. He shrugged off his coat and loosened his tie. "It's mostly the face he got."

Hazel's cheeks reddened as she soaked the cloth in warm water. "Stop your sweet talking. I am going to give you the rundown on how to treat so while I'm gone, you and Steve don't die from an infection since I cannot cure your idiocy."


	3. Three

December 25, 1939  
Hazel wrapped the robe around her form and padded out into the kitchen to make some tea. It was a cold morning and it was coming in the drafty windows, making the apartment’s floor unbearably cold. She slipped on a pair of Steve’s shoes that were by the door, chilled from the night, but warmer than the wood she was standing on. She filled the pot with water then set it on the stove for it to heat. As she waited, she tiptoed to the closet and retrieved two wrapped gifts, putting them under the small tree in the living room. One small package was for Steve, a pocket watch, and the other small one was for Bucky, a compact compass. Simple, but meaningful gifts.  
The pot started to whistle and Hazel rushed off to get it before it woke Steve. She measured out the tea leaves in the teapot she got in her time in France and then poured the water in. Replacing the cover and covering it worth a towel, she began to get things together for oatmeal.  
Since she arrived home back in June, she took up living with Steve. Her excuse to the boys was so she didn’t have to find an apartment, but her real reason was to keep Steve from doing anything stupid, like enlisting in this senseless war that was killing tens of thousands of people in Europe. Living with Steve all the time again meant seeing Bucky full-time. At first it was irritating, but Bucky grew on her, and relatively soon, she developed a crush on the brunette that use to irritate her to no end. There was no way she was going to admit it out loud or even to herself.

A knock at the door came, interrupting her thoughts.  
Hazel walked over to the door, unlocked it, and opened it to the point the chain stopped it. It was the devil himself, dressed in a dark gray three-piece suit and spit shine shoes with slicked back hair.  
“Hey, James,” she murmured, closing the door to remove the chain, and opened it again. “Steve’s still sleeping.” She walked back to the stove to stir the pot of oatmeal. “Oatmeal?”  
“Sure, Doll,” Bucky responded, closing the door quietly, knowing how Steve’s rest was beneficial. Instead of moving towards the table, his body took up residence against the counter next to her, his eyes moving over her figure which made a blush creeping up her neck. “Just got up yourself?”  
She nodded her response as her cheeks burned. Cursing to herself, she removed the pot and got three bowls. “Do you mind getting Steve? I’m going to change,” she said, not turning to Bucky once and made her way to her bedroom.  
Closing her door, a string of curse words fell from her lips. She pulled out the navy dress she saved up to buy for Christmas and got dressed. After removing the handkerchief, she unrolled each and every pin-curl, finger combing them out before pinning them back. She looked in the spotted mirror as she applied her mascara, using her lipstick for rouge then applied it to her lips.  
When she deemed herself presentable, she walked back out and saw Steve sitting at the table with Bucky eating the oatmeal. She got herself some and sat next to Steve, smiling at her best friend for most of her life.  
“Wow, nice Hamilton,” Bucky complimented her, as his eyes took in her attire.  
“Shut it, Barnes,” she replied coolly, her cheeks feeling hot. She focused on the bowl in front of her as the boys talked to each other.  
“You haven’t told her yet?” Steve asked in a harsh whisper.  
“Quiet, punk,” Bucky muttered, his eyes shifting between his bowl and Hazel.  
Hazel saw Steve turn red in the face, his head down, causing his blond hair to fall in his eyes. Bucky pushed away from the table, obviously upset. Neither of the two would look at her, Steve opting to push his lumping cereal around in the bowl and Bucky pretended to be busy at the counter, eyes focused on the same spot.

“Steve?” Hazel asked hesitantly. “What are you two talking about?” Steve briefly glanced up at her, his eyes flicking towards Bucky, then back down to his bowl. Hazel rolled her eyes and got up to go to Bucky. The boys knew better than to keep anything from her, just like how Bucky told her about Steve’s need to feel like he could make a difference and enlist to help England and the rest of the Allies.  
“Tell me, James,” she demanded in a tone that Steve said reminded him of his mother. He even said she perfected the stance: hands on hips, right foot out further, head tilted to the side with eyes narrowed and pursed lips.  
Bucky’s hand went to the back of his neck as he turned to face her, his bottom lip between his teeth. He didn’t say anything for a moment, making her rather impatient and her foot started to tap. He huffed in amusement, his eyes rolled.  
“You’ll make a great mom one day,” Bucky laughed, a smile gracing his lips.  
“Out with it, James,” she said forcibly, causing the smile to disappear from his face, still saying nothing.  
“He’s enlisting,” Steve muttered from the table.

  
“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky groaned, his eyes fixed on Hazel, waiting to see her reaction.

What was it she was feeling? Sad? Hurt? Anger? Didn’t he know he was doing the exact thing she did last year that he complained about? The thing that both he and her tried desperately to talk Steve out of? She could on stare at Bucky, mouth slightly agape, posture softening. She didn’t know how much time went by as she tried her best to process what she had found out, her eyes on Bucky the whole time.

  
“I think you broke her,” Bucky said, his brow furrowed as his eyes traveled over her.

  
Hazel slowly closed her mouth and shook her head. “How can you?” she whispered, but held up her hand when he went to answer. “I don’t want to know. I just want to know…” she trailed off. What did she want to know really?

  
“Hazel?” Bucky addressed her quietly, his hand on her shoulder. Her stinging eyes snapped up to the warm umber eyes that were his, her lip began to tremble a little.

  
“When are you leaving?” she asked, barely audible.

  
“Tomorrow. For Wisconsin.”

  
Hazel felt like she’s been smacked. He was going to leave without saying goodbye to her, and if Steve didn’t say anything, he would have succeeded. Before either one could say something, she grabbed her coat and stormed out of the apartment into the frigid outside, no destination in mind.

The streets were quiet, as the wind blew through the streets, biting at her exposed calves and face, the latter being wet from the silent tears that fell. Why was she this upset? It wasn’t like they were together or anything, and out of the two boys, she could see Bucky being the one to actually enlist. But something about it was making her stomach twist making the bile burn its way up her chest. She lost what little she had in her just outside of Namm’s dry goods as she leaned against the building’s wall, trying to catch her breath before the tears came at full force, making her sob to her knees.


	4. Chapter 4

_January 1, 1940_  
  
_Hazel,_  
  
_Just wanted to let you know that Wisconsin is going well, not like you would care to hear that, but I thought maybe in some sort of marvel that you actually would be bothered by my well-being while I’m away. Schedule is pretty strict, almost grateful that Dad had warned me about it before I signed the papers. I hope Steve isn’t giving you too much trouble, though we both know that is a high hope._  
  
_I think you and Steve would like it here in the Midwest. Winter seems to be colder than New York, but the snow is just the same. I do miss all the lights and sounds that a busy city gives us, here it’s dark, but you can see the stars. They almost remind me of the way your eyes would shine when you would laugh at one of my lame jokes. Maybe after the war, I can bring yous here, so you and Steve could see this place: hills and forests with very few houses. The nearest towns are about ten miles out, they said it would be almost four hours before you reach them by foot, but I heard they have some nice shops you would like. But I would definitely wouldn’t want to live here forever._  
  
_It’s just too quiet. And you’re not here. And Steve._  
  
_Bucky_  
  
_January 17, 1940_  
  
_Dear James,_  
  
_I received your letter almost a week ago, and it took until now to read it, the pain too great to bring myself to read it. It hurt to find out that you were leaving, to do the very thing I did that you protested against. I do apologize for leaving that Christmas morning, not giving you the send off that you deserved. I was selfish and hurt, leaving you with Steve, whom I heard later gave you lecture about it. Now, I’m here trying to convince our little ankle biter to stop trying to enlist under false pretenses._  
  
_Just Monday, he tried to by being Steve Rogers from West Virginia. This boy is going to be the death of me if he does, by some miracle, get into the army, and I pray each night that he doesn’t. I also send a prayer up that you are protected by God Himself. I don’t care how much moxie you have, James Buchanan, but you get yourself back to Brooklyn; back home to us. To me._  
  
_Please ignore that, I blame it on the fact that I am practically doing your job of keeping Steve out of trouble and mending his wounds from such trouble. He got into a fight the other day because someone talked bad about the war across the ocean. He also has been to the gym, working the bag as he had said before, coming home with bruised knuckles and a black eye. Remind me to slap you along the side of your head when you get back for leaving us. I know Steve misses you, and I only sort of miss you, you fat-head._  
  
_I hope training is going swell for you and that you don’t change too much._  
  
_Sincerely, Hazel_  
  
January 18, 1940  
  
The sound of the door slamming brought Hazel from her nap she had decided to take on the couch. She had just pulled a double at the hospital and she had to go in that night again, not waiting to complain because the money was enough to support both her and Steve, and to keep the rent so they could have a roof over their heads. For years, she had seen Sarah Rogers do just that to support both her son and Hazel herself, something Hazel never had been extremely grateful for until now. Sometimes the matron would work for days on end, coming home for a weekend or even just a day so she could check up on them, another thing Hazel didn’t understand and fully appreciate when she was adolescent.  
  
Shuffled steps let her know it was Steve who had let himself in, making her smile at the fact he had remembered his key, or maybe he had used the hidden on under the brick by the door. Not like she could tell because she wasn’t awake to witness the cursing he would have done. He was trying to be quiet, knowing she needed her rest, but he bumped into something causing him to curse out loud, making her spring up and be right at his side.  
  
“You okay Steve?” she asked softly, her arm going around his torso to support him as she checked him over with pinched brows.  
  
“‘M fine, Hazel,” he replied in almost a low growl, but his face was pale and there were dark circles 

under his eyes. She didn’t say anything, just ushered him to the couch, making him sit so she could get some coffee for him. Her mouth was set into a thin line as she handed him the white cup, silently waiting for him to talk.

“Really, Haze, I’m okay,” he urged, his voice rough as if he had been at a Dodgers game.

“Where?”

Steve averted his eyes from her, unwilling to look at her. There needn’t any words to tell her where he had be in general, his look was enough to tell her that he had been to yet another enlisting office to see if he could join the fighting cause.

“Steve,” she whispered, “you can be of help here. There’s plenty of jobs that you can do…”

“No, Hazel,” he snapped, looking up at her with ferocity in his blue eyes. “I want to serve. I need to.”

“You don’t have to be your father, Steve,” she replied calmly, kneeling in front of him as her hand rested on his knee. He would never admit it, but the boy desperately wanted to be just like his stranger of a father who was killed in the Great War decades prior.

“This has nothing to do with him,” was his whispered reply, “You don’t understand what is happening over there.”

“Steve, no one can understand what is going on over there. All we know is what the radio tells us, and that’s controlled by Roosevelt and the other agencies. Even France doesn’t know, and I was there for a few months.” Her voice was soft, the voice she reserved for difficult patients that were slipping from this life.

The look soften on his face as his eyes shifted to the pad of paper on the small table next to the couch. She knew he could see the looped letters of Bucky’s name and possibly the whole body of text she had written, but he would never say anything. Not since Christmas when he called her a dumb Dora, which earned a slap across his face that he rightfully deserved in her eyes.

She chewed her lip as she got up and sat next to him on the couch. “I miss him too,” she muttered, her cheeks starting to burn. Their friend had only been gone not even a month yet, and it seemed like they were falling apart at the seams. Steve was constantly at enlisting offices, trying his best at lying to get into the Army, or at the gym trying to improve the little strength he had to stave off bullies or people who pick on him because he was the little guy, or he was at the movies, watching the pre-show newsreels to see how the war was going in Europe. At the same time, Hazel busied herself at the Jewish hospital, picking up whatever shift she could to make ends meet or to keep herself busy so she didn’t have to think about Bucky or Steve.

“He’s smitten with you, you know that?” His voice was barely a whisper, but it felt like he screamed the fact right in her face.

“Never once had he shown me he was interested,” she replied coolly, making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal for her.

“He brought you flowers for your birthday.”

“I hate daisies. You both know that.”

“He carried your books in school.”

“Because he wanted to look unavailable to Esther.”

“He would always buy you the candy you liked at Coney Island.”

“Then take me on the Cyclone so I would throw up. Steve, we can go on and on and on about this. Bucky used me as way out of things with other girls, and half the time I let him because I couldn’t see my best friend being with such able gables and it’s bad enough that when he comes back, more of them are going to want him because he’s in uniform.” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she turned towards him. “Is that why you are trying to enlist? To get some broad to look at you the way they look at Bucky?”

“No!” Steve answered quickly, “that’s what most of those Joes want. What is with girls and the sight of uniforms?”

“Don’t look at me,” Hazel stated, her hands in the air, “I don’t fall for the show. It’s what in his head that matters to me.”

“What about Bucky’s head?” Steve pushed.

“Steven,” she replied warily.

“What? You two could round and round on topics that are being argued in Washington and you don’t find his thoughts or ideas something you like.”

“We are usually in opposition of each other.”

“Ma always said that opposites attract. Also said that you and Bucky would tie the knot. Even his ma was in that wager.” Steve looked down at his hands, fingers picking imaginary lint from his pants. “Becca would love you for a sister.”

“How is Becca? And their parents?” she asked softly, anything to get off the subject of her and Bucky being a couple, or even married.

“She’s fine. Misses him just like the rest of us. She misses you too. She was at the gym yesterday asking if I knew when you would be home so you two could go for a soda or something.” He looked up at his friend and smiled softly. “I think being around me hurts her more, since Bucky’s usually right there.”

“I’ll swing by their place tomorrow after work if I have time. I’ll even send her a letter. Now, let’s get you something to eat and some tea. It’s suppose to be windy tonight, and I haven’t been able to get a newspaper to help with the drafts.”

She got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen area, filling the kettle before lighting the flame to heat. Her mind was wandering around what Steve had said, the idea of bother Bucky’s mother and her adoptive one hoped that they would be together. Three years ago, she would have gagged at the idea, even tell the poor women off if they told her such a thing, but now? It stirred something inside her that she couldn’t place. She wish she had Bucky right there then so she could smack his stupid face for making her feel out of sorts.


End file.
